Heres Guy clarks tribute to Townes...Mr clark will be in Fort Worth in November....I saw him in 1993 and I don't think there were more than 30 people there...I imagine he will have a bigger crowd this time around! By the way, this song rocks...has a real edge to it.
Cold Dog Soup Guy Clark/Mark D. Sanders
William Butler Yeats in jeans Got up to play guitar and sing In some join in Mission Beach last night At the door sat Tom Waits In a pork pie hat and silver skates Jugglin' three collection plates Jesus Christ
Townes Van Zandt standin' at the bar Skinnin' a Hollywood movie star Can't remember where he parked his car Or to whom he lost the keys Full of angst and hillbilly haiku What's a poor Ft. Worth boy to do Go on rhyme somethin' for em' man Show him how you really feel
Chorus Ain't no money in poetry That's what sets the poet free I've had all the freedom I can stand Cold dog soup and rainbow pie Is all it takes to get me by Fool my belly till the day I die Cold dog soup and rainbow pie
Ginsberg and Kerouac Shootin' dice and playin' Ramblin' Jack's guitar With the cowboy paintin' pickguard on it And they sat in the back and drank for free And rhymed orange with Rosalie Now there's a pride of lions to draw to
Dunno whether I ever told you this story and am totally dating myself. Please excuse any and all redundancy.
The year was late '75.
I had been miraculously teleported to England to go to school, not necessarily of my own volition. With Mars squaring Saturn natally, my dad made me go. ". . .out of kindness I suppose. . ."
One day, I had weaved in and out of the streets of London on foot, determined not to take public transport so I could see it all. As if one could ever.
I really didn't know why I was there and was quite befuddled.
All day long for some strange reason, I kept singing "Hickory Wind" as I wandered aimlessly past the many gates buffered by, and armoured with sandbags to protect structures from potential bombings by the IRA.
Later did I learn that I blew out my achille's heal by doing so.
Yet that night, I happened beneath a marquis that said "Emmy Lou Harris and the Hot Band" SRO.
I somehow miraculously landed in the front row for a phenomenal show.
Just lucky I guess.
Thanks for the walk down memory lane. It was a nice reminder.
I think I've said too much already. A girl can't lay down all her cards at once. Good thing my deck goes higher than 52. I wish I were a guy so I could pee anywhere I wanted while standing up. That's real power. I'd like to meet the following: My great-great grandparents, the N. Oklahoma ones, not the Swiss gentry. My woebegone friendship with Adam G. The man who's going to be with me till we're retired to the porch swing sucking on glycerine tablets, and who still reads to me at night, while I rub his feet. My ambitions with commitment and discipline. The characters from old David Lee Roth videos. Hot carb on carb action. That fucker who keeps trying to take the bbq, in a dark alley, satan's minions, lilliputians, nigglers, pifflers, piddlers, snake-oil peddlers, cripples, do-gooders, truth-seekers, sweethearts, wandering minstrels, interlopers, robber barons, saints, sinners, people who snort and guffaw, holler and whoop, tender tender people with good hearts, and all my fat little babies. I like BUTTER! And Vitamin Z!
4 comments:
Heres Guy clarks tribute to Townes...Mr clark will be in Fort Worth in November....I saw him in 1993 and I don't think there were more than 30 people there...I imagine he will have a bigger crowd this time around!
By the way, this song rocks...has a real edge to it.
Cold Dog Soup
Guy Clark/Mark D. Sanders
William Butler Yeats in jeans
Got up to play guitar and sing
In some join in Mission Beach last night
At the door sat Tom Waits
In a pork pie hat and silver skates
Jugglin' three collection plates Jesus Christ
Townes Van Zandt standin' at the bar
Skinnin' a Hollywood movie star
Can't remember where he parked his car
Or to whom he lost the keys
Full of angst and hillbilly haiku
What's a poor Ft. Worth boy to do
Go on rhyme somethin' for em' man
Show him how you really feel
Chorus
Ain't no money in poetry
That's what sets the poet free
I've had all the freedom I can stand
Cold dog soup and rainbow pie
Is all it takes to get me by
Fool my belly till the day I die
Cold dog soup and rainbow pie
Ginsberg and Kerouac
Shootin' dice and playin' Ramblin' Jack's guitar
With the cowboy paintin' pickguard on it
And they sat in the back and drank for free
And rhymed orange with Rosalie
Now there's a pride of lions to draw to
Dunno whether I ever told you this story and am totally dating myself. Please excuse any and all redundancy.
The year was late '75.
I had been miraculously teleported to England to go to school, not necessarily of my own volition. With Mars squaring Saturn natally, my dad made me go. ". . .out of kindness I suppose. . ."
One day, I had weaved in and out of the streets of London on foot, determined not to take public transport so I could see it all. As if one could ever.
I really didn't know why I was there and was quite befuddled.
All day long for some strange reason, I kept singing "Hickory Wind" as I wandered aimlessly past the many gates buffered by, and armoured with sandbags to protect structures from potential bombings by the IRA.
Later did I learn that I blew out my achille's heal by doing so.
Yet that night, I happened beneath a marquis that said "Emmy Lou Harris and the Hot Band" SRO.
I somehow miraculously landed in the front row for a phenomenal show.
Just lucky I guess.
Thanks for the walk down memory lane. It was a nice reminder.
". . .and now he's growing old. . ."
love ya and talk shortly,
stella
So much better than the Willie Nelson hit single version.
A fitting tribute to the late TVZ
Beautiful. She has a voice like chocolate donuts.
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